A blog about things -- not necessarily beautiful -- that at least jolted me out of my tram-lined train of thought. They may be funny, poignant, disgusting or beautiful, but they will be personal. You, dear reader, may not give a damn about an image of a crisp packet at the edge of a river but I might think it so delightful that I cry with gratitude. And a few poems. A a book plug or two.

Thursday, 5 May 2016

May Stories 2016/05

Class A1 Science.
Thursday.

Chloe was copying the
formula for vitamin E into her exercise book when she felt something
hit the back of her head. Mr Donal, the chemistry teacher, was still
explaining the process of metabolisation, which she could probably
explain in her sleep. She lifted one hand to the back of her head,
careful not to raise it too high lest Mr Donal think she was raising
her hand to ask a question. There was something in her hair. She
assumed it was a paper spitball, courtesy of Richard Adams in the
back row. He'd made her life a misery since last year, when she'd
returned to school after the summer break with breasts bigger than
anyone's.

The spitball didn't
budge. Not only that, but it was sticky as well. The more she tried
to dislodge it, the more it stuck to her hair. The giggles from the
back row increased in volume and she twisted her head to glare at
them. Richard Adams, of course, and the two boys on either side of
him, Christopher Trant and Adrian Wilkes. They were having hysterics.
Trant picked something up from Adams' desk and leaned forward. “Want
some chewing gum, Chloe? Oh, no. You've already got some, haven't
you?”

“Oh! You filthy
bugger.” With the knowledge it was chewing gum in her hair, Chloe's
heart sank. Chewing gum was the worst thing in the world to get out
of hair.

“Language, Chloe
Good.” Mr Donal's Irish lilt could turn to the crack of a Belfast
rifle in an instant. “Is there a problem?”

“No sir. Sorry, sir.”
Chloe dipped her head, letting her fringe fall over her face to hide
from the teacher's view. She wasn't going to be a tell tale as well.
She might as well top herself if she did that.

“Please, sir.”
Ellen Coulter, on the next bench, put her hand up. “Richard Adams
threw gum in her hair.”

“Is that true,
Adams?” Mr Donal stalked down the length of the chemistry lab with
the speed of a City fan with a bottle. His meaty hand closed over the
packet. “Is gum allowed in school?”

It was a rhetorical
question, but Adams answered it anyway. “No, sir.” He stared down
at the desk.

“As you're an expert
on stickiness you'll be washing out the glassware every night for a
fortnight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can sit down.”
He turned to Chloe, still glowering. “Now, Chloe. What's the best
way to remove gum from hair?”

“I don't know sir.”
She could see this wasn't the answer he expected. “Cut it out?”

“I doubt your parents
would be happy about that.” He looked around the class. “Anyone?”

Several hands went up
and he pointed to a girl in the front row. “Christine Bailey?”

“Olive oil, sir. Rub
it in and the gum will slide off.”

“Good. Anyone else?”
He pointed to a red haired lad. “Stevens?”

“Ice, sir. Freeze it
and crack it.”

“Excellent, but it
takes twenty minutes and it's only ten until break. We can go one
better than that. Can anyone think what it is?” He looked around
the room. “No-one? This is a chemistry lab. What do we have that's
cold?”